Don't Shoot There's A White Woman In There!!

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which was warmly received in Buckingham Palace, as a plethora of royals sat bathing their sore feet in zinc buckets filled with warm sea water, complete with security vetted kelp. Tommy my cat, pulled his trousers down, his underpants up and said, "Mr Coyle may not be coming back from Portugal. Every night he salsa dances in the "Spanish Harlem" nightclub under the name of, El Tigre. Local talent spotter, Ollie Splodge, says, given time and a good surgeon he could turn Mr Coyle into another Ricky Martin." "Opportunity knocks for the Eyebrow," I cried. "In five years time he could have his own burro with personal number plates." "Apparently Mr Coyle is taking it very seriously," said Tommy. "He has splashed out on a Louie Spence DVD and insured his twisted, ricket legs for £75.50." "Another Derry boy makes good," I yelled. "Thanks to dedication and a childhood spent skipping with the girls." "Joseph Locke, Phil Coulter and now, El Tigre!" cried Tommy. "Up Stroke City!" "Tommy," I said, "sit down on that plastic gnome and give a full and frank account of the latest shenanigans up at Stormont." Tommy took out a tartan-backed note book, cleared his throat and said, "Item one, Jim Allister is still very angry. Item two, the limerick about Tubby Nolan has still NOT been erased from toilet 2B. Item three, during the heatwave, Sammy Wilson had to be sedated to stop him dropping his trousers. Item four, Sinn Fein's Gerry Kelly, killed a spider with the heel of his shoe, thinking it was an MI6 bug. "Item five, Mr Eloquence, farmer Tom Elliott, brought a packed house to their feet when he yelled, "FIRE! FIRE! The hall is on fire! MLAs and women first!" "Item six, apparently the Alliance party has been on strike for some time. No one noticed, so they trooped back in again." I ruminated, to hell with the dry cleaning expense, and said, "And what of new boy, Mike Nesbitt? What has smiling, twinkle-eyes Mike been up to"? Tommy sent the square globe of the earth spinning and replied, "Mike, Lynda and a couple of hired hands have been very busy in Tyrone and Fermanagh, driving backwoods men out of the trees and scrub land. Apparently Lynda was having a cup of tea in Mahon's hotel in Irvinestown when an old timer yelled, "Don't shoot. There's a white woman in there!" "Not many white women in Tyrone or Fermanagh," I said. "The Lifebouy soap lorry doesn't go that far".